Water
by stringsofwords09
Summary: Nostradamus gives Mary a vague prophecy.. (Mabastian)


"Will I love him?"

"Who?"

She looked at him, startled. Nostradamus stiffened, and blinked, as though he had let something slip. "I mean, yes. You will love him."

She opened her mouth, determined to receive a better answer, but Nostradamus hastily turned to the handmaiden, answering their questions instead. He would not meet Mary's eyes.

Aylee shuddered as Nostradamus repeated his visions to her, but Mary wasn't paying attention. He answered some of the other guests' questions. Finally, he nodded at the royals, and quickly walked away. The girls looked at one another as he hurried off, and no one said a word. King Henry snorted at the silence, disrupting the ominous tone the seer left on the room. "Well," he said, "there's a showman for you."

The girls relaxed and shrugged it off, resuming to chatter amongst themselves. Even Aylee no longer seemed concerned. Mary, however, was not satisfied. Just as he'd finished, Nostradamus's eyes had darted to her, and then over to where Francis was sitting.

Sebastian shifted in his seat. He hated wearing this heavily embroidered jacket. It weighed more than him, and looked so ostentatious. Francis sat next to him, oblivious as usual, and only staring at Mary. "She seems upset," he told his brother. Bash looked up, spotting the Scottish queen across the room. He thought she looked spectacular. She furrowed her brow when she was worried, and it dazzled him.

_Scotland needs armies, of course she's upset._

"Dance with her," he recommended, rolling his eyes in exasperation. His little brother was always a bit thick headed with women. And a little thickheaded in general. Bash could convince Henry to help Mary, he knew just how his father's mind worked. But this was the King playing a game with his prince, and Henry saw this as an opportunity for another stupid lesson that would just go over Francis's head. Teaching Francis how to bargain, or some other type of rubbish. Bash hated games.

He watched Mary and Francis dance for a few minutes, and finally had to look away. Of course, they looked like a beautiful little couple. "Aren't they just _darling?"_ he heard one of the court ladies gush to her friend. "Yes, they'll have delightful tiny blond babies," he muttered under his breath. The woman turned to narrow her eyes at Bash, but he just smiled. "Wonderful party, isn't it?" he told her, raising his glass.

Mary tore herself away from Francis, and headed toward the exit. "Mary!" called Francis, "where are you running to?"

"I just need a moment, Francis. Please don't follow me."

She followed Nostradamus's path from moments before, and stepped out into the halls. What was she doing, concerning herself with her heart, and murky visions, when Scotland needed aid? But her head wanted answers. _Will it be Tomas, or Francis? Portugal, or France? Would Scotland have a chance? …and would there be any love._

"Your grace," said the seer, nodding as Mary burst into his chambers. "Nostradamus" she replied, "I must speak with you. About before…"

"As I told you," he explained patiently, "what I see is never perfectly clear to me. I cannot answer your questions in the way you intend."

"It's a straightforward question," she said uncertainly, "I have to know…"

She looked at him, her eyes pleading, and the seer sighed. His visions truly were a curse. Not for him, but for the ones who insisted on attempting to change their fates. This queen would only find trouble down this path. He would have to set her straight.

"What do you want to know?" he asked finally. "You may not be keen on the answers."

Heart versus mind, her internal conflict raged. "Who will I marry?" she asked. _Was that too vague?_

"Your… man will descend from the blood of kings. And your children's blood."

Mary frowned, that was reassuring, wasn't it? But it still didn't tell her what she didn't already know… "And…love. Will I love– Will I really love this man, as you said?" Maybe she didn't want to hear the words?

The seer closed his eyes briefly, and put down the books he was holding.

"Your love will blossom over rain water," he whispered.

Bash glanced over at his father, who looked rather surly in his seat. He was talking with Francis, who mirrored his father's scowling face. His mother, Diane, was wisely keeping her distance, and Catherine looked morose as usual. Which meant Henry's disposition would only get worse, so it was time to disappear. Royals were so prickly.

Bash snuck out of the main hall to his room, and changed into more comfortable clothing, swapping the stiff garments for worn leather. His boots were scuffed, but welcoming. He soon made his way over to the stables. Riding helped him clear his head, and no one seemed to notice if he was gone for a few hours anyway. Whenever the King was absorbed in tricky political waters, it was best to lay low. Especially with the Queen tailing her husband's every step.

He paused by his horse's usual pen, but it was empty. "Is there anyone here?" he called out, annoyed. Where was his damn horse? A young servant soon materialized, leading a frisky gray mare behind him. "Sebastian," he said, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, the Master of Horse is a bit overwhelmed today." He paused to duck as his charge tried take a bite out of his ear. "Quit it, you! Sorry m'lord. He's out with all the other horses, and I'm left here alone to tidy." The boy didn't look very pleased.

"_All_ the horses? Why does he – Oh never mind. What about that one there?" Bash nodded at the biting horse. The servant shrugged. "She's new, we're keeping her away from the others. She likes to bite."

"Bite. Kiss. Whatever, just find me a saddle? I'll take care of the rest." He handed the boy a coin, and took the reins. "Whoa, whoa, girl!" The horse tossed her head, and leaned her nose into Bash's chest. But he was ready for her, offering a slip of sugar. He kept them in his pockets, always. The mare accepted it, blowing some air from her nostrils, but at least his all his fingers were still attached to his hand.

She made her way to the water's edge and looked out. She tossed a rock into the water, and watched as it plunked with a loud splash. It felt satisfying, and she tossed another.

He would have answered her questions better, had she asked them correctly. _Francis or Tomas?_ she thought. _He could have just said a name and I'd be inside, dancing with my future husband._ She shook her head in annoyance. She had a country to think of!

_Your love will blossom over rain water._

Water. It was almost laughable. What, would she fall in love with her prince on a boat? She wasn't going anywhere, even if an alliance with Portugal was set yesterday! Mary suspected the seer was holding back from her, but she was finally tired of predicting the future. Whatever happened, she would marry a prince, and their love would grow. Eventually. That's how it was supposed to go.

"Building yourself a fort, are you?"

She turned, to find a bright eyed Sebastian grinning at her from a lively horse of gray. "Bash!' she said, "I didn't hear you sneak up on me."

He shrugged, and patted his horse's head. The mare shuffled her feet, whinnying loudly at Mary. "If you didn't hear _that,_" he said with a laugh, "then Scotland does not have a very vigilant queen." He got down, and slung the reins over a tree branch.

"What are you doing over here, anyway?" he came up beside her. "Shouldn't you be inside, trading countries with my father?"

Mary smiled at the rock she was holding, and rolled her eyes. "You should talk, Bash, you've already changed into riding clothes." She stared pointedly at his outfit, and Bash self-assuredly grinned back at her. "You got me," he acknowledged. "I was out of that room fast as I could."

"You're lucky, Sebastian," Mary said now, softly. "You have the best of both worlds. A country to call home, but a castle where you're allowed to get your feet dirty." She looked so forlorn and Bash suddenly wished he could make her smile.

"No," he corrected her, "this is not my home. I'd rather get my feet dirty someplace where I mattered."

Mary looked at him, wondering if she'd gone and insulted him unintentionally. "I'm sorry…" she faltered, "I didn't mean…"

"That's not an issue," he interrupted her. "Come on, let's get your mind off this, talk of something else."

"I'm through talking," she said. "What were you planning on doing out here?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, and glanced back at his unruly horse. "Well, ride, but this animal has a chip on her shoulder. I have to feed her sugar for every quarter mile she covers."

"Or else what?" Mary asked.

"She tried to steal my manhood twice, if you must know the details."

The queen giggled, and Bash desperately wanted to her laugh more. He put a hand on her shoulder, and guided Mary over to his mount. "Come, let me introduce you, young Mary." She fearlessly reached forward to pet the horse, and Bash watched in fascination as the animal stood calmly at the gesture. "Maybe she only likes women," Mary suggested, and Bash thought that was a reasonable explanation. "Well, then I'll have to keep you near me as I ride her."

"Let's ride together!" Mary exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. Bash hesitated; a queen ride alongside a bastard? But Mary grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the placated horse. "Please," she begged him. "It will be a true quest, to tame your beast."

"Ok," he relented. How could he say ever no to her? "We – I and my horse – are yours to command."

And so he helped her up, and followed suit to sit behind her. This was not how he pictured the rest of his day going, but Bash was not going to argue with a Queen. He grasped the reigns, trying hard to ignore how it felt to have his arms press against Mary's waist. They walked for a little while, in a comfortable silence, passing under trees and on to the road. He forced himself to stare straight ahead. Mary smelled lovely.

"By the way, Bash, you never finished the full introduction." She stroked the horse's mane, and leaned forward. "I'm Mary," she whispered into its ear. "What is your name, gray lady?"

Bash rolled his eyes. "It's silly, really," he said. "According to the stable boy, she was born during a hurricane, – Whoa girl!" The horse had picked up suddenly into a trot, without any signal.

"Go on," said Mary after Bash calmed the horse back into a walk. "What is her name?"

"Sorry about that, anyway it is my pleasure to introduce you to the gentlest horse in all of France. Mary, meet Water. Water, meet Mary."


End file.
